Search Results for "Plan-It-X Records"

Indiana’s Ghost Mice have announced they will be releasing a brand new album titled “Wake Up And Fight.” Along with this announcement, they’ve released 5 tracks from the 19 song LP for streaming via Bandcamp. You can listen to them below.

“Wake Up And Fight” is set to be released on August 23rd digitally, and via Plan-It-X Records physically. The album also features guest spots from several other artists and friends.

Brook Pridemore, a folk-punk/anti-folk artist from Brooklyn, NY, has released his latest EP “Breakup Songs, With Horns.” You can listen to the stream of it below.

On the release, Brook had this to say: Hey, so I made these recordings over the last couple of years. They stemmed from a lot of projects that I started but never quite finished. What I realized over time was that they worked well together as a weird little EP. Scattered, smothered and covered. Two songs are by Mike from Prewar Yardsale (Dina plays on those, as well as three others). One was written for me to sing by Thomas Patrick Maguire. One was written by Neil Kelly and originally recorded by Huggabroomstik. One was written by Kung Fu Crimewave. The others were written by me. Some of this was recorded by Brian Speaker and some was recorded by Casey Holford. They’re both good people who make things sound good.

Brook Pridemore’s last full release prior to “Breakup Songs, With Horns” was album “Brook Pridemore’s Gory Details,” which was released on June 26, 2014.

I woke up to hear the faint, pounding screaming of the Phillidelphia neo-crust act Soothsayer, echoing from the Stable, all the way to our camp. Not too far from me, a guy named Walter had cooked up a makeshift stew out of everyone else’s leftovers, and was inviting everyone around to help themselves. It was a pleasant surprise to all the folks who had just made the unpleasant discovery that the state of Indiana doesn’t allow the sale of alcohol on Sundays. So much for the separation of church and state.

On my way to the Barn, I found that the pond had been closed in order to protect its fish inhabitants. Fortunately, even though cooling off wasn’t an option, the festival goers were still ready to unleash a reserve of tremendous energy. I walked into the stable to catch Slugging Percentage delivering their baseball and depression themed songs, not on the stage, but within a circle of pogoing fans.

That’s not to say, however, that the day was dominated solely by the hardcore acts. Later on, I had the pleasure of watching Ladycop preform, a six-piece group that delivered neo-pop tunes layered with funky bass and drum lines. At the front of stage, three vocalists stood dressed in white, with glitter on the corners of their eyes, delivering vocal harmonies that were downright angelic.

I think the two stand-out acts of the afternoon were Jesus and His Judgmental Father, and Michael Jordan Touch Down Pass. Jesus and His Judgmental Father (which definitely had the best band name of the fest) delivered impassioned queer-centered alternative rock tunes, including “Kings and Queens” which, to my mind, stands as one of the most powerful songs about transphobia that I’ve ever heard. Michael Jordan Touchdown Pass, meanwhile, delivered something much more hard to define, blurring the lines between acoustic punk and experimental rock, even mixing in touches of jazz. Part of the power of the performance was provided by an absolutely amazing white-haired trumpeter whom, I would later learn, was actually Charlie Schneeweis, the father of both Michael Scheeweis, the group’s creator, and Patrick Schneeweis (a.k.a. Pat The Bunny). However one would define their music, the audience was absolutely devouring it, with the mostly-shirtless spectators providing the largest and liveliest day-time turn out of I’d seen so far. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to grab a picture of their set. I did, however, have my camera handy when, immediately afterwards, a piñata shaped like the Plan-It-X logo was hung from the ceiling and set upon by the crowd.

After a much needed dinner break, I caught a performance from Loone, another queercore whose identity was almost entirely shaped by the sheer personality of its front-woman. Guitarist/vocalist Noel’le Longhaul preformed the group’s dreamy post-folk punk tunes in a hypnotically rigid style; where every time she hit a major node or struck a guitar chord, it seemed like she was breaking out of the sheer discomfort of her own skin. This actually added to the power of group’s songs, which all explored this very same notion of trying to find comfort with your sense of self. What really surprised me, however, was when, talking to Longhaul after the show, I found out that I’d pegged the performance entirely wrong, and what I saw wasn’t discomfort, but rather a minor moment of transcendence.

“I feel like, a long time ago, I went through feeling really anxious on stage, but I really love preforming,” she explained. “I feel there’s a particular space I can get into with the people in my band, that I think is really special, and I like sharing it with people. I think that our music comes from caring for each other, and so I feel like when I’m preforming about things, that’s what I’m preforming.”

Loone was followed by Tig Bitty, a rapper whose mix of hyper-sexual lyrics and experimental booty-shaking beats probably stood as the strangest act of the entire festival. After she was finished, the stage was taken by Whelmed, an East Bay style punk act that accompanied their bright pop-punk tunes by jumping and shaking across the stage, as if their instruments were electrified.

Later, while I was walking to the backstage area to charge my camera battery, I had a chance run in with Charlie Schneeweis who, in turn, introduced me to Nick Berger, who played dwith Loone, Paper Bee, and Ramshackle Glory. We had a short discussion about Plan-It-X as an inclusive space, and I was struck by the immense love that Berger had for the community they had found within it.

“People from Plan-It-X were some of the first musicians I saw that were queer musicians, and when I started playing in Ramshackle, I felt like one of my biggest goals was to create a space that felt like my teenage punk scene, where the people playing were weird, the people watching were weird, and you could just meet other strange outsiders, and maybe you get a zine or learn about feminism,” Berger recounted.

Interestingly, however, they were still willing to point out some of the shortcomings of the DIY community, particularly regarding the general whiteness of both its musicians and fans.

“I think there are things we could be doing better; things I could be doing better. Because of the level of whiteness that exists currently, it can be pretty alienating for people of color to just step into it, and to go ‘you guys should do this thing with us because we want more representation’ is pretty tokenizing… I dunno, it’s just really hard to walk the line between inviting a group of people into a space and being tokenizing. But even if there’s not a simple answer, I want to keep thinking about it, because it is a problem in every scene I’ve ever been in.”

As a consequence of this interesting talk, I missed the very beginning of Jeff Rosenstock’s set. When I walked in, he was halfway through “I’m Serious, I’m Sorry”, and looked like somethign genuinely inhuman. Absolutely drenched in sweat, he howled into the microphone while laying into his guitar, like it was a beast that needed to be tamed. At one point, somebody threw a shark-shaped life preserver at Rosenstock that managed to perfectly encase his shoulders and bind his arms to his side, yet he kept playing regardless.

The music then took a minor break in order for the fest to reveal its sadistic side. At the back of the barn, a table had been set up for the annual Eating Competition, in which all of the contestants had to tuck away an entire 16 oz jar of Veganaise. I was honestly a little too grossed out to stick around and see who won, but I think the photo below speaks for itself.

The penultimate act of the night was The Wild, a group I’d always seen as more of a folk-rock group than a punk act, but, boy, did their set make me realize my mistake. The songs that I’d always found soothing when listening on speakers and headphones, were suddenly loud and pounding, whipping the audience into an absolute frenzy. At one point, Jeff Rosenstock hopped back on the stage, seemingly out of nowhere, to join Witt on the mic, before diving into the crowd. Near the end of their show, they subtly revealed that this would, in fact, be their second to last show. Still, this little shock wasn’t enough to taper the audiences sheer adoration as they closed with “Set Ourselves Free”, giving everyone something very strong to remember them by.

The final show of the night was, in all likelihood, the the main reason quite a few people came. It was, after all, not only Ramshackle Glory’s final show, but also Pat the Bunny’s final performance before quitting punk entirely. Over the course of the day, the people around me had been speculating how the set might go down. At one point, someone joked “maybe his heart is actually going to explode,” a reference to a line in “From Here To Utopia” that made us laugh, albeit somewhat nervously.

On the second day of the festival, I had actually, by chance, run into Pat hanging out near the Barn. I asked if he would be interested in doing some kind of final interview, either before or after his final show, and he firmly declined. That’s not to say he was unfriendly- he was more than happy to chat with me for a while about music, spirituality, and Russian history; he even introduced me to his dad who, by a bizarre coincidence, grew up in the same small Minnesotan town as my mom- however he made it very clear that he didn’t want to give any on the record assessments about punk rock or anarchism. He honestly just seemed like he had moved on from thinking and talking about those two subjects.

With that in mind, I’d be lying if I didn’t enter the show with both a sense of disappointment, and high expectations. Would this be a climactic lamentation on recovery and anarchism, or would it feel like an obligatory farewell from someone who no longer felt a connection to his audience? It turned out to be something wonderfully different.

The set began with “We Are All Compost in Training”, and from the opening lines, seemingly every member of the audience was singing along word-for-word. The song started out slow and subtle, but on the two parts of the song where the singing stopped, the brass section of the act- two trumpets and a clarinet- kicked in, and you could honestly sense the shivers going through the spines of every member of the audience, as everyone on stage lay into their instruments with all the power that was humanly possible.

Of course, that intensity was just a tiny sample of what was to come; next, they played “From Here to Utopia”. This may be one of my favorite songs of all time, and I don’t know whether it was the faster tempo brought by the drum set, the mandolin-esque twang that the guitars seemed to pick up when they played the keyboard section, or the constant chirping of the brass section, but they managed to make it pulse with an energy that felt living and tangible. The trumpeters managed to breathe creative little flourishes into small moments of the song, bringing about the sensibilities of a Dixieland marching band. Meanwhile, every time the song reached a point where Pat screamed his lyrics, I swear the volume of his mic and the crowd were at equal levels. I found myself so caught up in the moment, I thought it would be a good idea to try and photograph the band while in the process of jumping off the stage and crowd surfing (hence the sweat covered photo at the top of the page).

From here, they went on to play an unnamed song from their upcoming album, followed by “No Shelter”. When they played “Never Coming Home” the audience swayed, arm in arm, and when they played “Your Heart Is A Muscle” the crowd turned into a rowdy, overjoyed mob, screaming along with the songs titular promise of hope.

Then they announced that the next song would be their last, and people started calling out desperate pleas for the song that mattered most to them. Someone shouted “play a Johnny Hobo song” and was promptly booed by seemingly the entire audience. The band proceeded to play “Time to Wake Up”, a song from one of Pat’s solo projects. At first, the song choice felt like an anti-climax, something subdued and a little more obscure. But as they played, something strange happened. People started crowd surfing, but not in the usual cannonball kind of way; instead, they would lean off the stage and float across the audience like a pilgrim across the dead sea. Even Charlie Schneeweis fell into the crowd, a huge grin across his face as he slowly glided across the barn. When the song reached its climax, everyone chanted the chorus with pat, singing “please wake up now, the world really needs you, desperately/ please cheer up now, we’ve been waiting for you, all your life,” before the entire band chimed in, creating a cacophony of pure serenity. I looked and, to the left of me, saw two lovers were hugging each other tightly. To my right, a man was breaking down into tears. Then, as one of the crowd surfers drifted close, and we all reached out to make their weight feel like nothing, I realized that past all the sweat stinging my eyes, I might have been crying too. But thank god that wasn’t actually the end.

The band proceeded to play a tribute to Erik Peterson, giving their rendition of Departure/Arrival. Then, after the brief “Club Hits of Today Will Be The Showtunes of Tomorrow”, they played “Last Song, Part 2”. The crowd surged forward one last time, to bask in what truly felt like the conclusion of a beautiful punk legacy. They savored every moment, until the show was ended with the same line that concluded the album I fell in love with almost three years ago, “so maybe god isn’t the right word but I believe in you.”

With the last song concluded, the audience started chanting “thank you Pat,” to which he bashfully approached the mike and replied “thank YOU.” It was at that precise moment that a thought struck me. Throughout the set, they had stuck to Pat’s most hopeful songs, avoiding the likes of “More About Alcoholism” and “Eulogy for an Adolescence”. The performance carried no bitterness, and hardly any real anger. Instead, all the musicians just had a constant peaceful smile, like someone reading the great ending to a good book. The final words of “Last Song” echoed through my head, and I no longer felt upset about not doing the exit interview. Over the course of half an hour, with just the hopeful words of his music, he had just given us all the explanation we needed.

And with that, he gave the audience a thumbs-up and disappeared behind the painted curtain.

Okay, so I have a bit of a confession to make. My original plan was to write each entry the immediate morning after the day in question; I ended scrapping this after my morning writing/photo-uploading session lasted until the afternoon. The consequence of this poor timing, is that I ended up missing Cottontail (an awesome folk/electro-pop group). But the morning wasn’t all bad. As I worked on the first day’s round up, there was a nod of recognition with every scruffy, tattooed patron of the café, who had obviously come for a coffee break between acts. I also couldn’t help but put on the biggest grin when the barista behind the counter asked “so who the heck is this Pat The Bunny guy I keep seeing on everyone’s t shirts?”

When I got back to camp, the heat was bearing down worse than ever. I decided to follow the example of seemingly a quarter of the festival goers, and listened to Calyx’s noise-laden powerpunk from the comfort of the pond. At one point, as I lay in the water listening to her calming wailing to the accompaniment of a thrashing drumbeat, a water moccasin lethargically glided about an inch away from my head. That was when I decided to get off my ass and treat my journalistic responsibilities seriously. I got back just in time to catch the impressive pop-punk double feature from Nostrodogous and Nutter. The two groups were both fast and hard-hitting, with Nostrodogous delivering a greater sense of desperate energy in the way their lyrics and melodies were delivered. Meanwhile, Nutter’s vocalist offered a more ironic kind of singing, that heavily added to the overall fun of the band.

After an hour, I needed to change return to camp just to change shirts and rehydrate. On my way back, a guy named Lucas unfortunately informed my that the barn was now taking a two-hour break between acts. For a moment I was so disappointed that I almost didn’t notice that he was inexplicably wearing a black and crimson ball gown- one that would make even the most salacious of evil Disney queens jealous. He explained that he’d dropped by trading post that two kids had set up outside the barn which, true to its name, was trading wares for other goods. Assembled in front of them were patches, shirts, old toys, children’s books, assorted ps1 games, and a Nintendo 64 controller. They were also giving away stickers in exchange for hugs.

Not too far from them, a circle of people had gathered around one of the designated workshop areas, and were having a heated discussion on prison reform. Near that, another seminar was taking place, exploring the benefits of herbalism, and giving out recipes for natural solutions for anxiety, indigestion, and menstrual cramps. Some folks from a group called Mystic Hand had also set up a printing station, letting people craft their personalized Plan-It-X Fest posters, or anything else that took their fancy (I’d eventually spot someone printing their catchphrase on their underwear.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a true folk-punk festival without a platitude of stalls dispensing revolutionary literature. PM Press had a table inside the stable, selling books on anarchism, environmentalism, veganism, colonialism, and trans reform. Next to them, a vast collection of zines and self published novels had been set up by Pioneer Press. There was also a logo-less table near the pond that was selling the assorted works of Marx, Fuccault, and Sarte for, roughly, $5 a piece.

Once the music started up again, I’d have to say that one of the real standout performances of the day came from Brooklyn queercore act Little Waist. The band played quick pounding melodies, with the instruments delivering their riffs at a pace that was constantly changing, yet always so catchy that your brain would want to just go along with their seductively angry tunes. Throughout all these songs, vocalist Audrey Zee stood so close to the mic that you’d swear she was almost kissing it, giving a roar that conveyed a fierce mix of sadness, anger, and apathy, all at the same time. Since the set ended, I think I’ve listened to their track “I Wanna Be A Dyke Wife” at least ten or so times. I had a chance to speak with Audrey after the show, and I was fascinated to learn that her voice was, in fact, one of the most anxiety-inducing components of the group’s sound.

“I always thought I would never be able to sing in public, let alone front a band,” Audrey said. “When I started to sing in public, I think I kind of wanted it to be a way that was a little bit noisy and fucked up, so I thought if I’m a singer-songwriter, unless it’s something a little more fierce, I’m going to feel way too scared of people hearing me; so I thought ‘I’m going to make a lot of noise, and people are just going to have to listen to that noise.’”

I’ll be uploading the full conversation with Audrey in a later post, but one of the most fascinating insights I gained from talking with her related, not just to her music, but to the identity of the DIY scene as a whole.

“This is something that I have a hard time defining, but I already feel like an outsider in punk music,” Audrey explained. “I feel like I also do have a really good community of people who are like me, and with who I can make music that is really powerful. I don’t know, I kind of, like, feel really free to do whatever the fuck I want, already I’m, like, different, so maybe I’ll make this song go into 6/4 or something, because I’m already a fucking weirdo up here, so I might as well make my music a little weird too.”

Little Waist was then followed by Dasher, another extremely memorable act purely thanks to the intensity of their onstage presence. I’m continually surprised by how rare it is to find a group where the drummer doubles as the lead vocalist. Usually, the drum kit is relegated to the background of the stage, serving as a sort of boiler room to the band; its beats form the lifeblood of the songs, but its worker is kept in the shadows. But when Dasher played, Kylee Kimbrough sat front and center, screaming bloody murder into the mics and beating the ever loving shit out of her kit. She managed to convey so much ferocity, even while remaining seated, because all of her dark lyrics carried a physical repercussion whith each drum-strike. Of course, this would be nothing without the backup of the guitar and bass, which delivered harsh tunes both dark and witchy, a perfect accompaniment to the howling demon in the center.

Much like the previous day, all the festival goers emerged from their fire circles to crowd the barn to catch the headliner; in this case, it was the Max Levine Ensemble. However, anyone who showed up earlier was treated to a wildly entertaining set from the wild rock two-piece Shellshag. Consisting of a guitar and a drum kit, the duo played around a strange light emitting device that sort of resembled a tripod from the War of The Worlds remake. Their music was fast yet soothing, working vocal harmonies into CBGB-era punk riffs. The duo kept on finding new ways to add creative flairs to their music, whether through the working in Ramones and Blink 182 mash-ups, or in the way drummer its drummer would twirl around the stage, showing off the tambourines that snaked around her ankles; or even in how they concluded the show by precariously stacking their instruments atop each other, like some strange future-punk monolith.

Lastly, there was the Max Levine Ensemble which, simply put, was absolutely electrifying. As they played “My Valerian”, guitarist David Combs and bassist Ben Epsstein constantly hopped across the stage as if the floor was made of hot coals. The audience, meanwhile, began letting some of their pent up mosh energy out, with roughly a dozen people leaping off the stage to surf across an extremely welcoming audience. The set concluded with several other musicians entering the stage, to join the trio in a rendition of Mischief Brew’s “Old Tyme Memry”, a serene song about memory that, in of itself, honored the memory of a fallen hero.

With its lineup concluded, the barn was then turned into a makeshift projection room to screen entries in the Instant Gratification Film Festival. However, that didn’t mean that the music of the night was necessarily over. A couple hundred yards away- practically on the other side of the festival- a stage had been set up by PIX for whoever felt brave enough to play. These acts were, by nature, unplugged; hell, the musicians were only visible thanks to a few people in the cross-legged audience with enough foresight to bring flashlights. This was the ground zero of folk punk; twenty-somethings playing borrowed guitars and screaming their lungs out as they sang about depression, alcoholism, and the futility of life. Within these acts- groups with names like The Whoopi Goldblum Experience, Happy Noodle Boy, and The Broken Glass Kids- I found a distilled concentrate of everything wonderful about folk punk. While each one of these acts held a unique musical identity, they all shared the same scrappy desperation to figure out what it means to live a life worth living.

Throughout most of my drive from Indianapolis airport to the Plan-It-X venue, I was roughly 80% sure I was totally lost. The terrain around Spencer is almost exclusively farmland, and the town itself is small and quiet, a place where near half of the store fronts looked permanently closed. Just when I was on the verge of pulling over and checking my map, I saw six hitchhikers, all in a row, walking in the same direction and all wearing the same look of triumph. That was a good sign. Then, as if on cue, I passed an orange sign with an eye-patched smiling cat, and below that words “You’re Close!” were written in sharpie.

At a quick first glance, the Festival almost seemed like a summer camp- a summer camp populated by mostly-drunk adults in patched jackets, tattered shirts, and muddied boots. All of the acts played on a stage in an old barn. Beside the barn, lay a green pond, within which five people were splashing around an inflatable pond, and around which groups of people were sleeping and jamming. Beyond the barn and the pond, a small tent shanty-town stretched for about half a mile through the nearby woods. As I set up my tent, some nearby speakers to my left was blasting Mischief Brew’s “Thanks Bastards”, while to my left a guy with a guitar was giving his rendition of “Three Chord Circus”. This impromptu tribute to the late Erik Peterson was simultaneously beautiful, and strangely haunting, yet the mood was quickly lightened when two of my neighbors walked by, inexplicably chanting “STD’S WERE CREATED BY THE GOVERNMENT!”

Throughout most of the day, people followed a fairly simple routine; watch the performances in the barn until the heat and humidity become unbearable, return to your campsite to rehydrate on water and beer, then repeat as necessary. Every group played a short, sweet, half-hour set, and unfortunately I missed Dakota Floyd, the first act of the fest. Fortunately, I was able to make the latter half of the set played by Double Jinx, a two-man group that played pop-punk tunes that, while bursting with bright energy, actually played immensely political songs about police brutality and homelessness. They were immediately followed by Ugly Lover, a duo with a considerably darker tone that delivered moody dark wave tunes about healing and grief, both members erupting with desperate rage.

While the first two bands created two vastly different sounds, they both paid careful attention to the making sure their respective messages were conveyed to the audience. The songs would be preceded with short, earnest explanations of their nestled ideas, and while Ugly Lover focused more on themes of personal healing, both bands conveyed the same call for solidarity, as well as a love of being surrounded by friends of allies.

As the day progressed, the bands differed vastly in musical sensibilities, but the themes of love and community remained as a prevailing constant. Dog Years played jumpy, short songs that let every guitar riff and vocal line shoot up with an unquenchable energy. The Minor Kind delivered slow, wistful Americana tunes about staying true to oneself. Some of the acts weren’t even musical; Julia Eff, for example, delivered a beautiful poetry reading that explored the role of music in becoming something else, and in transcending ideals of gender and identity. Anywhere else, this shift in tone would seem slightly discordant, but Eff’s reading ultimately stood as something wonderful delivered to the prefect audience, one that could completely relate the struggles of understanding oneself, and would cheer at all the nostalgic references to Myspace and early-2000’s pop-punk.

At nightfall, the oppressive heat of the day finally lifted, only to give way to a swarm of mosquitoes. People gathered around separate campfires, all cooking their own, unique, ramshackle dinners. When I finally made it back to the barn, I could hear Terror Pigeon, a one-man act, blasting dreamy electro-punk riffs while screaming the repeated line “you make my heart explode!” He was then followed by Dogbreth, a pop-punk act that mixed melancholy lyrics with totally unrelenting energy and movement, with both guitarists collapsing to the ground throughout the final solo.

Unfortunately, The Taxpayers had been forced to drop out of the festival at the last minute. So, the climax of the evening was delivered by Your Heart Breaks and Ghost Mice. I had absolutely fallen in love with “America”, Your Heart Breaks’ incredibly mellow previous album, so it was quite a (pleasant) surprise when they delivered an fast, electric set that focused on their earlier work. When Ghost Mice took the stage, the barn was now completely packed full of people. The group was fully prepared for this turn out, forgoing their usual acoustic sensibilities in favor of something faster, with Chris Calvin absolutely killing it on an electric guitar. The audience absolutely adored this decision, singing along and jumping in unison to songs like “Critical Hit” and “Song For Tomorrow”. With the conclusion to the set, someone even jumped on stage, tossed an inflatable raft onto the crowd, and spent the final song crowd water rafting (I don’t know if that’s a thing, but I’m going to call it that).

The night was concluded with Super Famicom, a solo experimental goth punk act. Then, from 1 am until about 2, there was a karaoke show. As I walked back to my tent, three young punks were delivering an… unconventional rendition of Vanessa Carlton’s “A Thousand Miles”.

I spent the rest of the night sitting around a lantern with my neighbors, listening to distant covers of AJJ and Ramshackle Glory songs. A guy named Elton told me how, the previous year, an ambitious washboard player decided to spend an entire night playing, and re-playing, the entire Johnny Hobo discography, much to the frustration of the rest of the camp. As we all sat there, slowly succumbing to our exhaustion, I was struck by the tremendous friendliness and generosity of the people around me. Beer, food, and cigarettes were constantly being traded; while stories and ideas flowed freely from person to person. Lying in my sleeping bag, I found my mind running through the final lines of The Mountain Goat’s “The Color In Your Cheeks”:

“But they came, and when they finally made it here
It was the least we could do to make our welcome clear
Come on in, we haven’t slept for weeks
Drink some of this, it’ll put color in your cheeks”

So this is something a little different. Those fine folks over at Plan-It-X have just put their entire catalog on sale for exactly $134.96. It’s definitely a hefty sum, especially since punk-rockers of the folk variety aren’t exactly known for rolling in disposable income. Than again, this collection does include albums such as The Taxpayer’s “God Forgive These Bastards”, Ramshackle Glory’s “Live The Dream”, and the Ghost Mice/AJJ split, arguably three of the greatest folk-punk albums of all time. So hey, if your wallets feeling a little hefty, and you wanna hugely expand your folk-punk collection, check out the labels Bandcamp page here.

Some sad news this Wednesday morning: Plan-It-X Records decides to close up. In addition, there will not be a Plan-It-X Fest this year. Owner Chris Clavin has put up a statement on the label’s website.

Ghost Mice front man and Plan-It-X Records founder Chris Clavin has announced a book tour over the next couple days, where he will be doing live readings from his book Free Pizza For Life and playing a few songs. He will also be joined by his friend Morgan Eldridge who will be reading poetry. You can check out the full list of dates and locations below.

Well, this one’s a really big bummer. The Phoenix folk punk outfit Ramshackle Glory has just announced what can informally be called their breakup. The band made the following post on their Facebook page;

Ramshackle Glory will not be going on tour or playing shows ever again. We do, however, have a last record in the works. It will probably be released later next year, but there will be no certain details available on that for some time. As individuals, we all play in other bands and do other things. We’ll continue to post here with info on those projects, news on our final release, and whatever else we feel like sharing. THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the love and support that we’ve received over the years. That was truly incredible of you.

There’s currently no news as to when this final album will come out; the groups most recent release was Shelter, back in 2013 via Plan-It-X Records. Since then, however, it is also worth noting that many of the bands members have already been pursuing their own solo projects such as Cottontail, Death Has A Thousand Ears, and Pat “The Bunny” Schneeweis own solo work.

As you may be aware already, Arizona-based anarcho/folk-punkers Ramshackle Glory just recently had their tour van stolen right out from underneath them…almost literally. The band had parked the van in front of the place they live since last summer, and had no problems until now…right as their about to go on tour with Mischief Brew. Here’s what the band had to say:

Some more background on the van theft, err, liberation. So, it got stolen from in front of one of our houses where it had been parked since last summer. Of course it got stolen at the worst possible time, as opposed to say, six months ago.

We did begrudgingly try to file a police report for insurance reasons and in case it turns up anywhere, but the cop didn’t want to let us report it as stolen without agreeing to assist in the prosecution if someone gets caught. Since we refuse to do this, the cop put it down as “suspicious activity.” So, we don’t really expect to hear from them if the van does get found. But, you know, what would we do without them?

To help them cover the costs of purchasing a new van and embarking on tour, the band launched a GoFundMe page. You can help them out by clicking and donating here. If all goes according to plan, tour is slated to kick off June 4th in Phoenix. Click here for the tour rundown.

Anarcho-folk/punk troubadour Pat “The Bunny” Schneeweis (Ramshackle Glory, Wingnut Dishwasher’s Union, Johnny Hobo & The Freight Trains) recently sat down with the fine folks over at A Fistful Of Vinyl for an interview. This is the first time Pat’s ever done anything for radio, and the boys at A Fistful of Vinyl got to sit with him for an hour discussing his music, battles with addiction and sobriety, and the mysterious skunk ape.

Pat “The Bunny” Schneeweis of Ramshackle Glory will be playing a short run of shows in the Northeast this October. Dates and locations can be found below.

Pat The Bunny’s last released The Volatile Utopian Real Estate Market, a compilation of songs from all the stuff he’s released over the past 3 years, on September 14th. It’s available for purchase on Bandcamp.

Anarcho-folk/punk troubadour Pat “The Bunny” Schneeweis (Ramshackle Glory, Wingnut Dishwasher’s Union) is headed out on a series of northeastern US tour dates to kick off 2014. He’ll be joined by One Man Romance for the first handful of dates and Douglas Fur for the later dates.

Both One Man Romance and Douglas Fur appear on the Savage Wasteland label that is operated by the lads in Ramshackle Glory. Click here for tour dates.

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Band Spotlight

Not often we hear something from a completely unknown group that absolutely blows us away. Believe us, we listen to a lot of punk-- and news flash: not all of it's good. But 24 Hour Punks, discovered through a lucky click on bandcamp, is incredible. Think fast, intense melodic punk that lands somewhere between hard-hitting 90s skate and Cock Sparrer. It's a powerful concoction for a debut EP.
Even better, there's a story behind it. As the band's name suggests, Why We Fight was written, rehearsed, and recorded in 24 hours. All proceeds go to charity organization AMMF.
We're not kidding! Check out the three song EP and listen to 24 Hour Punks raise the bar here.